"Arr. Speak, will you yield?

"Ori. Villain, I will not! Murderer do the worst Thy base unnoble thoughts dare prompt thee to!

I am above thee, slave!

"Arr. Wilt thou not be drawn

To yield by fair persuasions?

"Ori. No; nor by

--

Arr. Peace! know your doom then: your ladyship must

remember

You are not now at home, where you dare feast
All that come about you; but you are fallen
Under my mercy, which shall be but small,

If thou refuse to yield: hear what I have sworn
Unto myself; I will enjoy thee, though it be
Between the parting of thy soul and body;
Yield yet, and live!

"Ori. I'll guard the one; let Heaven guard the other!
"Arr. Are you so resolute then?

"Duke. [From above.] Hold, hold, I say!

"Ori. What, yet more terror to my tragedy?
"Arr. Lady, the scene of blood is done;

You are now as free from scandal as from death."

Of course her fame is cleared; Oriana becomes the and Gondarino is proved affianced bride of the duke; to be a base traducer. His punishment is left to the She migh banish lady, who chooses an odd one. him for ever; but she prefers tying him to a chair, and inviting a host of ladies to teaze and kiss him,an infliction which, as we are gravely informed, is more severe than banishment, or even death.

Such is the main plot; but there are two underplots to relieve the other. They are, however, not subsidiary: they have no natural connection with the piece; and The great fault of they are disgustingly obscene. Fletcher was the complicated character of his incidents : he lost sight of the main action in a multitude of divergent ones; he heaped incident on incident so as to destroy all pretension to unity, and consequently to interest. In this respect Beaumont was a real acquisition to him if he had more invention, the other There is, however, less of inhad more judgment. in The Woman-Hater than has been generally

supposed. One of the incidents, the most prominent one, indeed, though as it has no immediate connection. with the main plot, we have not dwelt on it—is taken from Bayle's Dictionary, who relates it from Paulus Jovius. The conduct of the heroine is in the highest degree unnatural; the sentiments are outrageous; and the decencies of life, no less than nature, are violated.

"Philaster; or, Love Lies A-bleeding," the first of these joint productions of Beaumont and Fletcher, has been highly prized. It was, many years after the death of both authors, popular on the stage; and it has since been frequently revived. By modern writers it has been called 66 one of the most beautiful dramatic works which this country has produced." That the reader may judge how far this praise is merited, we will briefly analyze the piece.

The scene is confined to Messina and the neighbouring forest; at the duration of the action we may guess.; but it cannot be more than a few hours. Both our authors were admirers of the unities (in imitation, no doubt, of Ben Jonson); and though they frequently transgress that of action, they generally observe those of time and place. The king of Sicily has a daughter, Arethusa, for whom he has provided a bridegroom in Pharamond, prince of Spain. As she is his only daughter and heiress, he is anxious for the celebration of the marriage. But he has another reason for anxiety there is a prince, Philaster, who is the rightful heir to the Sicilian crown, whom the whole people love, and whom he has vainly endeavoured to remove. It might naturally be expected that to consolidate his power, and to continue it in his own family, he would give his daughter to Philaster. But in our old dramatists nature or reason must not be looked for: they were too obvious to make any impression on either writers or readers; and the artificial, the unnatural, the unreasonable was preferred. Arethusa has no liking for the prince Pharamond; but she has conceived

a passion for Philaster. This she resolves to tell him ; and she sends for him:

Enter PHILASTER.

"Lady. Here is my lord Philaster.

"Are. Oh! 't is well.

Withdraw yourself.

"Phi. Madam, your messenger

[Exit Lady.

Made me believe you wish'd to speak with me.

"Are. 'Tis true, Philaster; but the words are such

I have to say, and do so ill beseem

The mouth of woman, that I wish them said,

And yet am loth to speak them.

Have you known,

That I have aught detracted from your worth?

Have I in person wrong'd you? Or have set
My baser instruments to throw disgrace

Upon your virtues?

"Phi. Never, madam, you.

"Are. Why, then, should you, in such a public place, Injure a princess, and a scandal lay

Upon my fortunes, famed to be so great;

Calling a great part of my dowry in question?

"Phi. Madam, this truth which I shall' speak, will be

Foolish But, for your fair and virtuous self,

::

I could afford myself to have no right

To any thing you wish'd.

"Are. Philaster, know,

I must enjoy these kingdoms.

"Phi. Madam! Both?

"Are. Both, or I die: By fate, I die, Philaster,

If I not calmly may enjoy them both.

"Phi. I would do much to save that noble life;

Yet would be loth to have posterity

Find in our stories, that Philaster gave

His right unto a sceptre, and a crown,

To save a lady's longing.

"Are. Nay then, hear!

I must and will have them, and more.

"Phi. What more?

"Are. Or lose that little life the gods prepared,

To trouble this poor piece of earth withal.

"Phi. Madam, what more?

"Are. Turn, then, away thy face.

* Phi. No.

"Are. Do.

"Phi. I cannot endure it.

Turn away my face?

that look'd

So dreadfully, but that I thought myself
As great a basilisk as he; or spake

So horrible, but that I thought my tongue
Bore thunder underneath, as much as his;
Nor beast that I could turn from: Shall I then
Begin to fear sweet sounds? a lady's voice,
Whom I do love? Say, you would have my life;
Why, I will give it you; for 't is of me

A thing so loath'd, and unto you that ask
Of so poor use, that I shall make no price:
If you entreat, I will unmov'dly hear.

"Are. Yet, for my sake, a little bend thy looks.
« Phi. I do.

"Are. Then know, I must have them, and thee. "Phi. And me?

"Are. Thy love; without which, all the land Discover'd yet, will serve me for no use, But to be buried in.

By all my hopes, I do, above my life:

But how this passion should proceed from you
So violently, would amaze a man

That would be jealous.

"Are. Another soul, into my body shot,

Could not have fill'd me with more strength and spirit,

Than this thy breath. But spend not hasty time,

In seeking how I came thus: 'T is the gods,

The gods, that make me so; and, sure, our love

Will be the nobler, and the better blest,

In that the secret justice of the gods

Is mingled with it. Let us leave, and kiss;

Lest some unwelcome guest should fall betwixt us,
And we should part without it.

"Phi. 'T will be ill

I should abide here long.

"Are. 'T is true; and worse

You should come often. How shall we devise

To hold intelligence, that our true loves,

On any new occasion, may agree

What noth is host to troad 2

"Phi. I have a boy,

Sent by the gods, I hope, to this intent,
Not yet seen in the court. Hunting the buck,
I found him sitting by a fountain's side,

Of which he borrow'd some to quench his thirst,
And paid the nymph again as much in tears.
A garland lay him by, made by himself,
Of many several flowers, bred in the bay,
Stuck in that mystic order, that the rareness
Delighted me: But ever when he turn'd
His tender eyes upon 'em, he would weep,
As if he meant to make 'em grow again.
Seeing such pretty helpless innocence
Dwell in his face, I ask'd him all his story.
He told me, that his parents gentle died,
Leaving him to the mercy of the fields,

Which gave him roots; and of the crystal springs,
Which did not stop their courses; and the sun,

Which still, he thank'd him, yielded him his light.
Then took he up his garland, and did shew
What every flower, as country people hold,
Did signify; and how all, order'd thus,

Express'd his grief: And, to my thoughts, did read
The prettiest lecture of his country art

That could be wish'd: so that, methought, I could
Have studied it. gladly entertain'd him,
Who was [as] glad to follow; and have got
The trustiest, loving'st, and the gentlest boy,
That ever master kept. Him will I send
To wait on you, and bear our hidden love."

After this meeting, Pharamond, who is come to receive his promised bride, has the less hope of success. Bellario, the page of Philaster, leaves him with great reluctance for the society of Arethusa; and there is a motive for this reluctance: it is not a boy; it is Euphrasia, daughter of Dion, a Sicilian noble, whom love has caused to assume the male attire, and enter the service of Philaster. She endeavours, but in vain, to remain with him:

"Enter PHILASTER and BELLARIO.

"Phi. And thou shalt find her honourable, boy;

Full of regard unto thy tender youth,

For thine own modesty; and, for my sake,

Apter to give than thou wilt be to ask,